


Something Wicked

by matrimus



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Steampunk Tooth Fairy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrimus/pseuds/matrimus
Summary: Based on the Sleep Tight music video, the story of how Steampunk Tooth Fairy!Rhett came by his eyepiece - and one incredibly loyal assistant.





	Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is written with the characters of the Tooth Fairy and his assistant existing as living beings of their own - they are not Rhett and Link in costume. I kept their names for the sake of convenience because hey, I'm lazy.
> 
> Watching the video for the millionth time, I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the fact that Link’s character in the left-hand video doesn’t sing during the Tooth Fairy segment, and decided on the headcanon that he can’t actually speak. I hope it works out as well on paper as it did in my head. 
> 
> Thank you to mythicalmonochrome for the help beta reading!
> 
> Come chat to me about these nerds on [Tumblr](http://matrimus.tumblr.com/)!

 

Nerf darts, it turns out, pack quite a punch when fired at point-blank range.

Link’s incessant tugging on the hem of his tutu is what jerks Rhett’s attention from the tangled drawstrings of his tooth pouch, and he looks up in time to see his friend pointing frantically toward what  _should_ have been a soundly sleeping child. Instead, Rhett finds himself staring down the colourful barrel of a nerf blaster, kohl-lined eyes flying wide and crossing slightly as they struggle to keep the toy-turned-weapon in focus. A beat passes, Rhett’s world narrowing to the plastic tips of the loaded darts glinting in the soft yellow glow of the room’s nightlight, before the blaster fires and his vision goes black.

The propelled dart strikes him square in the eyeball, the kid somehow landing the shot even whilst hanging upside down from the mechanical jaws of the crane mechanism. Rhett’s sharp yelp rings loud in the otherwise sleepy silence of the house, both hands flying to his face as Link jabs the crane’s controls and unceremoniously drops the kid back to her pillows. Red-hot pain lashes through Rhett’s skull; he blinks rapidly, right eye blurred and streaming, and rounds on the kid with a snarl.

“You  _little_ —” he’s cut off when a second dart whistles past his shoulder, clipping the tip of his wing and ricocheting off the wall. It’s this near-miss that prompts Link into sudden action; he lurches to his feet and shoves roughly at Rhett’s shoulder, pushing him toward the open window. Neither of them stick around long enough to leave their usual counterfeit money behind, a third dart tagging Link in the back as he tumbles over the windowsill. Rhett’s bellowed curses paint the night air blue, though any who might peek from their windows would see nought but a flash of light as the magical creatures vanish, fairy dust leaving a comet’s trail in their wake.

\--

It’s only later, when they reach the safety of their home, that Rhett calms down. Technically speaking, it’s Link’s home, but Rhett spends enough of his time there that his presence feels more natural than his absence. Hunched on the kitchen tabletop, he sits with one booted foot resting heavily on the back of a chair and a bag of frozen peas pressed to the side of his face, puffing out his chest when Link approaches with a familiar set to his jaw Rhett knows means serious business. Still, this doesn’t stop him from jerking his head away at the first brush of Link’s fingertips to his cheek; he swats a gloved hand at his friend’s face, wriggling as far back as his seated position allows.

“I don’t need babying, man.” The wooden table groans beneath Rhett’s weight, the tips of his gossamer wings flicking dangerously back and forth like the tail of an irked cat. “It’ll be just fine without you pokin’ at it.”

Link’s lips press to an unimpressed pout, his brow furrowed beneath the rim of his top hat. He pushes forward, heedless of the warning, using the advantage of Rhett’s spread knees to slide his slim body closer until the dirty frills of Rhett’s tutu bunch up against his chest. He’s shrugged his coat since arriving home, and the crisp fabric of Link’s white shirt whispers along the bare skin of Rhett’s thighs.

“Woah, woah!” Rhett protests, though the words lose their steam once Link’s fingers curl gently around his wrist. “You ever heard of personal space?”

Link only rolls his eyes in reply and tugs Rhett’s hand away, revealing the swollen red mess beneath. His mouth drops in silent dismay, and Rhett’s angry groan echoes through the kitchen.

“Is it bad? It’s bad, isn’t it.” Bad enough that he can’t see properly out of his right eye anymore, Link’s pale face dim and out of focus when he squints his left eye closed. It’s just his darn luck – immortal he may be, but impervious to damage he is not. He’s always been so careful in making sure the kids were fully under the spell of sleeping dust before attempting to take the teeth from beneath their pillows; what were the odds that the first to resist the magic would be armed with enough firepower to take out his freaking eye?

He hurls the bag of frozen peas across the kitchen, ignoring the pitter-patter of its spilled contents bouncing off the flagstone floor. “Right, here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna go back there tomorrow night, and we’re gonna take  _every single one_ of that little brat's teeth,” Rhett hisses, his hands balling to tight fists. “Do you have one of those nerf whatsits around here? If we mod one so it shoots a big-ass boxing glove instead of a dart, that would really—”

His mouth snaps shut with an audible click when Link’s palm abruptly cups the side of his jaw, tipping it carefully toward the low-hanging lights. Rhett’s breath stills in his chest. They don’t usually touch one another like this, the innocent gesture holding a weight Rhett can’t quite begin to comprehend. The warmth of Link’s hand is impossibly soothing after the cold compress of the peas; he barely resists pressing more of his face into the touch, his beard sliding between Link’s fingers. The smudges of black around Link’s eyes throw their bright blue hue into sharp focus, and this close, Rhett can see how they shine with concern as they scan for lasting damage with the calculated gaze of a doctor inspecting his patient.

An unbidden memory floats to the surface of his mind, Link’s face hovering over him as Rhett lay dazed in the wet grass of Link’s garden half a decade ago. Sparks had crackled from the destroyed power lines above them, showering the lawn with bursts of red-gold and illuminating the stranger knelt by his side. Agony had ripped through his shoulder blades when he’d attempted to fly away in a blind panic at the curious touch of a cold hand to his arm, his nostrils filled with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and cloth. God – his wings were  _smoking_ , his hair standing on end and limbs wracked with the aftershocks of twenty thousand volts. The stranger had shushed him with low noises of comfort as he’d pulled him gingerly to his feet, allowing Rhett to use him as a makeshift crutch whilst helping him inside.

Rhett licks his lips, silent now as he lets Link’s dexterous fingers turn his chin this way and that. He still remembers his surprise – and though he’d never admit it out loud, his  _fear_ – when Link had laid him out on a metal table that first night, the laboratory around them something straight out of a black and white horror movie. There had been no bolts of lightning or mad doctors there however, only a scientist – an inventor, a  _genius_ – who had nursed his wings back to health and even fit them with a long list of improvements. The rigged harness of tubes and gears allowed him to fly faster than he had before, and for longer distances without need to stop for a rest. He felt stronger,  _better_ , and not to mention far more stylish – the twin gold chains Link had strung between the straps crossing his chest looked damn good, if he said so himself.  

Rhett had stayed with Link until he’d fully recovered, then never bothered to leave. Why would he, when Link never questioned who or what he was, never looked at him like a specimen to be examined beneath a microscope, and was constantly coming up with new and fancy ways of conducting business. It was Link’s idea to forge the counterfeit dollar bills, for example, drastically increasing their own wealth through selling the collected teeth on the black market. Link’s smile had been sheepish when he’d first presented Rhett with the printing machine, though the grin had soon crept into something far more wicked at Rhett’s enthusiasm. For all his silence, his gentle grace and soulful eyes, Rhett’s human had a knack for mischief.

He’s never asked why Link doesn’t speak, nor has Link ever offered the information in return. Perhaps the answer is simple: he can’t. Rhett has only ever heard him make quiet noises in the past, breathless notes of frustration and laughter coupled with forceful exhalations and gasps that could have been Rhett’s name. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter; the pair have never needed verbal words to communicate effectively, Link only occasionally feeling the need to write out questions in his looping, cursive hand. Rhett is hardly a man to grow weary at the sound of his own voice, and Link has never complained; they’d fallen quickly into an easy codependency, though Rhett prefers to see it as two halves of a whole working in tandem.

He forgets – perhaps forcibly sometimes – that Link is human. Rhett’s magic can only do so much, granting him the power to fly whilst gripping Rhett’s hand, but the fact remains that Link is entirely mortal. It’s not a thought Rhett likes to dwell on for too long, each of Link’s birthdays adding more silver to his hair and another knife to Rhett’s gut.

Long minutes pass before Rhett lifts an eyebrow, his chin still held firm between Link’s fingers. “You done gawking yet?”

Link throws him a coquettish look – _‘maybe’_ – before finally releasing him. If he lingers between Rhett’s thighs then they pretend not to notice, Rhett silently wishing he hadn’t thrown the frozen peas against the wall when hot blood begins to rush to his cheeks. He’ll blame it on the injury if Link points it out. His eye throbs.

“D’you think…” Rhett’s white-knuckled grip around the edge of the table is a telling sign of his nerves even as he forces a blasé expression. “D’you think it’ll get better?”

Link hesitates, plump lower lip curling into his mouth. A nod, one hand falling to lay briefly atop Rhett’s own. Rhett knows what he means.

_‘I promise.’_

\--

The walls of Link’s bedroom are covered with clocks. Some work – their hypnotic _tick tock_ rhythm an underlying heartbeat that hums throughout the house – whilst some remain frozen in time and space, some missing their arms altogether. Rhett has no need for sleep, though he likes to watch Link sometimes, his long legs propped up on the desk and his eyes lifting over the top of an inconspicuously placed book to settle on the unsuspecting human.

Days have passed since _The Accident_ , and though Link had refused to rush back and exact sweet revenge on a small child, he  _has_ fitted Rhett with a shiny new eyepiece. The magnified lens dramatically reduces the blur and throws everything into sharp focus, far clearer and brighter than they were before. A leather strap keeps the bulky apparatus in place, its fabric soft and surprisingly un-restrictive.

Through the eyepiece, Link’s parted lips glisten in the silvery moonlight spilling between a gap in the drapes. Rhett remembers how they’d felt when they’d pressed up against his own, the scrape of stubble and the nip of sharp canines distracting him from the pressure of the eyepiece slipping over his head. He’d blinked, momentarily stunned into a rare silence of his own as Link’s wolfish grin came into startling focus.

A second kiss, slow and wet, Rhett’s wings flapping fast enough to beat the shorter man’s hat clean off his head. Neither of them had noticed.

Smiling to himself, Rhett watches his human sleep. Link had kept his promise, as always; things  _had_ gotten better.


End file.
